Emotionally Yours
by Love the Brightest Star
Summary: A collection of drabbles on various emotions, written for The Emotion Challenge by A Sirius Crush on Moony. 16 - 'You should have known it was a hopeless endeavor.' 17 - 'Why her' — Hermione's feelings at Ron's relationship with Lavender. 18 - 'They left, but they never really left.' — James, Lily and Sirius watch over Harry even past their death.
1. Under the Bed

**Emotion prompt: Scared**

 **Characters: Albus Potter, Lily Luna Potter**

 **Summary: There's something under Lily's bed.**

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"Al! Al, wake up!" Albus felt a soft hand persistently shaking his shoulder. He opened his eyes by a crack. The digital alarm clock on the bedside drawer showed one o'clock on its fluorescent screen. He groaned.

"Go away," he mumbled, shuffling farther from the touch. He didn't care who it was. He needed to sleep.

"Albus, please!" The voice sounded close to tears.

He opened his eyes, his vision foggy without his glasses, and turned around. A haze of red in front of him, framing something round and pinkish, told him that it was Lily.

He groped for his glasses, and pushing them up on his nose, sat up.

"What is it, Lily?" he said, failing to keep his annoyance out of his voice. His sister might be only three, but she could be really annoying at times.

The little girl looked very scared. She was clutching the black dog soft toy to her chest; her eyes were large and bright, and her lower lip was quivering.

"I can't sleep," she whispered, shuffling closer to his bed.

"Well, all you have to do is lie down and shut your eyes," said Albus, frowning. "Count sheep if you like."

"I..." Lily looked over at the open doorway, as if afraid that someone might come in. Thanks to all her fussing that James had a room all to himself, Lily too had a room of her own, facing Albus' own. "Albus, there's a monster under my bed."

Albus blinked at her. "What? No, of course there isn't. Don't be silly."

"There is, there is!" she screamed, stamping her foot. Tears filled her eyes. "I know there is, and it will eat me up and..."

"How do you know that?"

Lily stared as if the question was absurd. "I know there is. Come and see. I could hear it rustling and scraping at the bed..." The tears flowed. "Albus, will it eat me up?"

"Of course not," Albus said, softened by her tearstained, frightened face. "There _isn't_ any monster. But if you insist," he added quickly as Lily opened her mouth to protest, "let's go and chase it out."

Lily's room was dark, with the little bedside lamp put out. Albus walked towards the small single bed, Lily stumbling behind him, clutching at his nightshirt. As they reached the bed, Albus stooped to the level of the bed. Lily had stopped a few feet away, biting her lip. He lifted the cover and looked down.

"Look, Lily, there's nothing —" he began to say, but then froze. Staring at him unblinkingly were two bright orbs of light. Seconds ticked as Albus stared at them and they at him. What in Merlin's name was that?

And then Lily heard Albus laugh.

"Oh, Lils, just look at this," he said, and at his laughing voice, she found some courage and stepped closer. Suddenly, Albus rapped the bedpost with his knuckles, and from beneath the bed, out rushed a kitten — Mum's new pet kitten, Annie. Lily blinked as the kitten sat down at the door and meowed at her.

"See, this is your monster!" Albus laughed. Lily smiled sheepishly. She felt very silly. Albus shooed the kitten away and made to get back to his bed.

"Anyway, could I sleep with you, please, Al?"

Albus turned around, a smile blooming on his face.

"Come on."

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 **So how was it? Please review! :)**


	2. Back Home

**Emotion prompt: Homesick**

 **Characters: Seamus, Dean and Neville**

 **Also written for 'Once I was 7 Years Old..' Challenge by Screaming Faeries; prompt :"We've travelled around the world and we're still roaming"**

 **Summary:** **"We've travelled around the world and we're still roaming."**

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It was a quiet night. As the clouds shifted, the moon obtained her full reign over the sky once more, released from captivity, and shone upon the world with her soft, pearly glow bathing the tall cliffs which looked out over the sea. The waves rolled back and forth, crashing against the age-old rocks, wearing them out bit by bit, a grain at a time. Everything was silent other than the roar of the rushing waters, which foamed and frothed even whiter than the moon. Life was silent, and practically nonexistent in this quiet land, save the swaying trees and the grass, the sleeping birds, and the creatures residing deep beneath in the dark waters of the ocean.

But not quite. A closer inspection would reveal two figures sitting, leaning against each other, right at the edge of the cliff, with their feet dangling. The wind wove through their hair as they sat, but their eyes appeared listless, seeing and yet not taking in the beauty of the scenery around them.

Seamus' hand crept across from his side and clasped around Dean's rougher one. If the other boy noticed the gesture, he did not give any sign to indicate it. His eyes simply remained fixed on the horizon, staring, unseeing. Seamus sighed.

Things hadn't been easy after the War. Both of them had lost everything. An attack on the neighbourhood where Dean's family lived had taken their lives — his mother, sisters, all of them —scarce weeks after he escaped Malfoy Manor. He hadn't even managed to let them know that he was alive. Seamus' mother, his only living relative, too had died fighting when Voldemort's minions came calling. By the end of the war, the only thing they had left was each other. Seamus would never forget how Dean had looked after Voldemort finally died. The cheer and laughter in the wrecked halls had lifted Seamus' spirits to some extent, and he had gone to find Dean. His best friend was sitting at the end of what used to be the Ravenclaw table, his head resting on his hands.

"What's the use of victory," he had said, a tear slipping from his eye, "when there is nothing left? What are we supposed to celebrate over, Seamus, when our loved ones are dead and buried?"

And it was then that Seamus knew just how deep Dean's wound had run.

If there was one thing that they had common, it was their love for travelling. Both Seamus and Dean loved to go out and about, and often, Dean would tell him stories of his travel after the holidays. This hobby was something that Seamus took up as an escape. Perhaps going far away from the wreckage would heal their wounds; perhaps they would find peace and happiness again. Dean agreed that going away was a good idea. So as the rest of the wizarding community in Britain spent their time between celebrating and patching up, Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnigan took their own route.

By the next year, there was not much left in the world that they had yet to see. Exotic locations, bright colours, bustling roads and still silence, Seamus and Dean had experienced it all. And yet their plan didn't work. No amount of travel gave them solace. From the lighted streets of Paris to the quiet lochs of Scotland to the dry heat of Cairo to the beaches of Hawaii, nothing cured the restlessness that haunted them. The locations were all very thrilling, just never enough to give what they were looking for — happiness and peace of mind. Dean had a dull, faraway look in his eyes half the time, and Seamus knew that he had, too. And here, over the quiet night and the rolling ocean, they were still wanderers.

"We've travelled around the world, and we're still roaming," Seamus murmured, sighing heavily as he looked out into the distance. Wouldn't they ever get back what the War took from them?

"Dean..." Seamus knew he wanted to say it, but he kept hesitating. The idea had been playing in his head for a few days, but he wasn't sure Dean would appreciate it. After all the resolutions they took...

"Seamus," Dean spoke up suddenly, as if roused from a reverie. "Seamus, I'm — I'm homesick. I want to get back."

Seamus couldn't help the small smile which crept up his face. "You just spoke my mind."

He gripped Dean's hand tighter as they slowly stood up.

They were finally going back.

-o0o-

The Leaky Cauldron was as crowded as ever. The golden light of the pub's interior spilled out, invisible to passing muggles, as the magical folk clamoured about at the tables. Neville Longbottom, sitting alone at a corner gave a cursory glance at the door as two figures stepped in. And stared.

Moments later, Seamus and Dean found themselves being tackled heavily by a familiar figure.

"Seamus! Dean!" Neville's smile was nearly enough to split his face in two. "Merlin, I never thought I'd see you again. You just disappeared without a news!"

"Neville!" Seamus couldn't believe how fate had twisted; mere seconds after stepping into familiar ground, he suddenly felt as if he had never left.

"Come on, you two. We must have a much needed chat." And with that, Neville herded them towards his table.

"So where have you been?" Neville asked curiously as they sat down. The boy was the same, except that he looked more well-toned and sharper than ever.

"Later," Dean spoke up. "You first."

"Well, things are looking up. Everything's under control now, what with Kingsley being the Minister, and the system's improving too... Hermione completed her school year by taking a year extra... Harry and Ginny are dating... Harry and Ron are up as aurors... I was too, actually, but I left... Oh, and speaking of which," Neville paused his rambling and smiled bashfully, "I applied for the Herbology post at Hogwarts."

"What?" Seamus started. "That's great news, Neville!"

"Congrats, man." Dean thumped him on the back.

"Yeah, well..." Neville's cheeks turned red. "And maybe Hannah will try a job there too, maybe in place of Madam Pomfrey... So it will be good..."

"You're dating?" Seamus caught the hint. "Seriously, mate, you are just soaring!"

Neville laughed. "Anyway, it's nowhere as good as seeing you again. If I had known, I would have called up Ron and Harry too. Now they have missed a chance of meeting you."

"No need," Dean smiled. "We are staying."

Neville beamed in astonishment. "Just a minute," he said, "I'll buy you drinks, and then I am hearing all of it from you."

As they watched their friend walk off, Seamus turned to Dean.

"You are smiling," he commented.

"So are you," Dean pointed out, the grin never leaving his face. And they both laughed.

"It feels good to be back," Dean sighed, leaning back in his seat. "This is the place we were looking for."

After a long time, they were happy and contented. Perhaps the place where they had lost everything would be the place to return them their broken pieces.

-o0o-


	3. Brave

**Emotion prompt: Courageous**

 **Characters: Dorcas Meadowes, Benji Fenwick**

 **Summary: If there's one thing Dorcas can't stand, it's being thought of as a coward.**

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 **This turned out to be longer than I had planned... :-p**

 **Enjoy!**

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"I'm not a coward!" cried Dorcas.

"I never called you one!" Benji replied, eyes wide with surprise.

"It was implied!"

"Listen, Dorcas, I never called you a coward, and I don't think you are one, either," Benji tried to explain as calmly as possible.

"Oh, yes?" Dorcas's eyes flashed. "Then what would this mean, huh? 'Only the brave ones are going for the mission.'" She made a mocking imitation of Benji's deep voice. "' It's _extreeemely_ dangerous!'" She laughed a bitter laugh.

"I'm not going myself," Benji tried to calm her down, running his fingers through his dark locks in frustration.

"I don't fucking care!" Dorcas snapped. "I don't care what _you_ are doing. I am _not_ a coward, I'll let you know!"

"Dorcas, I —"

But Dorcas Meadowes was not going to listen any further. With a toss of her midnight hair and her face resembling a thunderstorm, she rushed out of the room.

Benji sighed, and dropped his head upon his hands. Dorcas Meadowes had such an explosive temper; he hardly understood her at times.

-o0o-

Dorcas strode down the street with quick steps, frowning at everything that crossed her path. Later, much later perhaps, she would realise that she had overreacted, but that time wasn't going to come anytime soon. For now, she was fuming. She couldn't explain this, but she was extremely touchy about her courage being doubted. Back at school, she had never got over the fact that people considered Ravenclaws the most shrewd and low-lying right after Slytherins. So what if you aren't a Gryffindor? Can't you have brains and still have courage?

Carefully thinking about it, Benji really hadn't called her a coward, or anything even close. It was just that she had been rejected for the mission by Moody in spite of nagging for a long time, and Benji's words about the same had acted as salt to the wound. If there was one thing Dorcas Meadowes could not stand, it was being shunned from something because someone doubted her courage and capability. She actually enjoyed throwing herself in front of danger, and took a fierce pride in beating the toughest of fighters.

"I will prove it to Moody," she murmured to herself, "I'll show it to Benji. I am not a coward."

And with her long hair swaying in the breeze, she walked away into the darkness.

-o0o-

 _Two weeks later —_

Dorcas crept along the dark alleyway towards the faintly lit building at the very end. She couldn't help the adrenaline that kept coursing through her, and the predatory smile on her lips. Any other person in her position wouldn't be so happy; this was a situation that could cost her her life. But after all, she was Dorcas Meadowes. She was always looking out to prove her worth, to her family, to her friends, to her seniors, to the world. And this was a chance. Beside her, Hestia Jones walked just as quietly, but her eyes were alert and worried. They had been sent to spy on the meeting of Voldemort and his followers, which, the Order had tracked, would be held here.

The night was dark and moonless as they reached the house. It was a ramshackle old place, evidently chosen to avoid suspicion. Hestia tried the door. It was locked. She silently cast an Alohomora, and the door swung open noiselessly. Dorcas blinked. It was far too easy.

With their wands out, the two of them crept wordlessly deeper into the house. The ground floor was vacant. Reaching the staircase that led upstairs, they could hear quiet voices floating down from the floor above. Dorcas looked at Hestia, and with a silent agreement, they stepped on the wooden stairs. They creaked. Dorcas hissed, and froze. The voices upstairs faltered momentarily, and then sounded again.

Moving as quietly as possible, Hestia and Dorcas reached the upper floor. Standing at the small, narrow landing, they crept close to the wall and cocked their ears for whatever they could hear.

"Are the matters as we discussed in the Ministry, Mulciber?" A voice as cold as ice cut through the air.

"Yes, my lord," Dorcas recognised the voice of the boy who had been in the same year as her. "Saunders and McDaniel are still under the Imperius, and are working perfectly. I look forward to putting the curse on the Assistant Head of the DMLE next week."

"Are you certain no one knows of your actions?"

"None, my lord. We are perfectly safe."

"My lord," another voice spoke up. "The last fight with the Order —"

"There is no need of further fear," Voldemort said. "My spy has informed us of the Order's latest plans, and we will not be caught unawares again."

Dorcas' breath caught in her throat. That spy, whoever it was... had he known and told Voldemort of their plan today as well? But no, it seemed not...

Suddenly, the sound of heavy footsteps came from the stairs below. Dorcas and Hestia froze, and stared at each other in panic. There was nowhere to go. The stairs ended right here, with no floors above. The only way was the room beyond, and the very idea of going there was inconceivable.

"Let's disapparate," Hestia whispered. Dorcas nooded. She didn't like running away, but staying would be suicide, and that would not help at all. The two witches spun on the spot.

Nothing happened.

"There must be an anti-apparation jinx to prevent anyone from coming in," Dorcas whispered frantically. The footsteps were coming closer and closer. Five more seconds, and their game would be up.

Thump, thump. Nearly there. Dorcas counted the seconds. What could she do?

A burly death eater came into view. As his eyes fell on the two women, he froze. For two whole seconds, they stared at each other. Then without thinking, Dorcas shot a stunner at him.

She realised her mistake far too late. The death eater fell like a log on the stairs, a deafening crash echoing through the house as his body made contact with the floor. Dorcas heard chairs pushed back in the room, and before you could say 'Lord Voldemort', they had been surrounded.

The death eaters had evidently not expected an interruption, for their faces weren't covered by the usual masks. Dorcas could recognise several of them — Mulciber, Lucius Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle, Nott, Wilkes, Rosier.

"Spies!" Nott hissed, and then of course, all hell broke loose.

Dorcas and Hestia were vastly outnumbered, what with there being only two of them and so many death eaters. The cramped space gave her a small advantage, allowing her to hit someone or the other with her spells. But still, the odds of them conquering in this battle was practically nil. And then, Dorcas knew that Voldemort himself was sitting inside. What now?

She shot spell after spell, trying to edge toward the staircase, even as Hestia did the same. But her attempts were never successful; there was always at least one person between her and the stairs. But as she ducked a stinging hex, she noticed that Hestia was at the edge of the staircase. She was free to make a run for it. She could take the information that they had got to the Order

"Hestia!" she called. "RUN!"

At her voice, Hestia saw her opportunity. She hesitated, her heart and mind clearly conflicted.

"I'll get away as soon as I can!" Dorcas egged her on.

Finally, Hestia's calculating mind won, and nodding, she dashed down the stairs.

All this happened within eight seconds, and in the commotion, the death eaters only just realised what was happening.

"She's escaping!"

"Get her!"

With that, a barrage of curses flew towards Hestia's retreating figure. Dorcas blocked a few, and most of the others missed. Completely forgetting Dorcas, four or five death eaters ran after Hestia. Dorcas prayed that her fleet feet and head start would deliver her companion to safety.

Now that she was alone, the rest of the death eaters focused their attention on Dorcas. Wands were raised, and as she saw the faces of her many opponents, Dorcas wondered what chances she had now. Anyway, she still fought her way through the pandemonium, with only one thought — _Get to the stairs._

But her endeavor seemed futile now that the death eaters had realised their folly. At least five men separated her from the stairs; there was no way out.

"Stop."

The voice was quiet, but somehow it carried across the commotion. Every death eater froze. Even Dorcas found herself stopping in her tracks.

The man who stepped out of the room was tall and slim, and dreadfully pale. His eyes, coal black, seemed to glint scarlet now and then in the dim light. He walked silently towards Dorcas, the death eaters falling back fearfully as he approached. A small smile played on his lips as he studied her, as if she was an interesting laboratory specimen instead of an enemy.

"Dorcas Meadowes," he said quietly, his voice cold as ice. "I had not expected to meet you. But it's a pleasure."

Dorcas said nothing, studying him warily.

"I am disappointed at you," he addressed his followers, Hus eyes never once leaving Dorcas' face. "There were only two of them, and so many of you, and yet one escapes." The death eaters cowered at his merciless tone; a few made attempts at mumbled explanations, but eventually fell silent.

"Dorcas," Voldemort said, still eyes her like a predator. "We could do with someone like you. You are intelligent, talented. I could utilise your true potential. You will be rewarded well for your faith. Your side is bound to lose. It's foolishness to cling to the drowning boat."

Dorcas glared at him. How dare he?

"You will find me at your side only after my body is dead and rotting," she growled.

Voldemort's nostrils flared, but his smile did not disappear.

"Foolish words, as usual," he smirked. "But I was under the impression that you were a Ravenclaw?"

His wand barely moved from his side, so it was completely without warning that the wall behind Dorcas crumbled on top of her. Dorcas gave a yelp of pain as tons of solid bricks rained on her. She could feel the pain blooming all over her body; she could feel the blood pour out. As she staggered up, she felt the night air brush across the sticky blood.

"Is that all you've got?" she whispered, and even as her legs threatened to give away. As with a shaking hand, she pointed her wand at Voldemort. A lasso of fire shot out and latched around him.

Perhaps he hadn't expected her to have the strength to attack again, for he didn't block the attack. His clothes caught fire; his hands reddened. There were cries of outrage and shock from the death eaters. But then without so much as moving a muscle, he doused the flames.

"Clever," he said calmly enough, although his eyes blazed with fury. "A little pain could tame you, dear. Crucio."

Waves of pain shot across Dorcas like a thousand daggers. Her body already weakened from the last attack, she fell to the floor, writhing. But even as her eyes rolled back in pain, she didn't scream. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction.

His shoes clicking on the wood, Voldemort walked up to her at a leisurely pace. He edged his wand at her throat and lift her chin so that she looked right into his fathomless eyes.

"What do you say now, Miss Meadowes?"

"N-never!" she gritted out.

The pain doubled. It was unbearable. Dorcas felt blood fill her mouth as she bit down hard on her tongue to keep herself from screaming.

"Pity," sighed Voldemort in mock sadness. "There is only one option left now, Dorcas." He raised his wand at her chest. The pain subsided, but Dorcas didn't have the strength to move.

"It hurts me to end a talented one like you, Dorcas Meadowes. You were very brave."

 _There_ , Dorcas thought as she saw the green light build at the tip of the wand. _Even the devil admits it — I'm not a coward. I wish you could see me now, Benji._

And even the herald of death rushed at her, lighting the small space with its ghastly emerald glow, Dorcas' lips lifted in a triumphant smile.

-o0o-

Benji Fenwick stood at his balcony, looking away at the darkness.

 _Oh Dorcas_ , he thought sadly. His hands clutched the bouquet of flowers tighter, flowers which he had wanted to give to her some day, but which would be only placed on her grave. A tear glittered in his eye.

 _You were the bravest woman I ever knew, Dorcas_. The tear slipped and landed on a rose, glimmering like a dewdrop in an early morning. _You didn't need to prove it to me._


	4. A Lesson Learnt

**Emotion Prompt: Nauseous**

 **Character: Regulus Black, Bellatrix Lestrange**

 **Summary:** **Regulus gets much more than he had bargained for on his first outing as a death eater.**

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 _I don't even know why I came_.

No other garb had felt so oppressive to Regulus as his black hooded cloak and silver mask did. It felt as if the dark cloak was weighing him down with all the expectations of his family and the burden of the deal he had accepted. The mask covered all of his face except the eyes. It made him claustrophobic. And the Dark Mark... it had been branded onto his forearm two days ago, but it still seemed to be burning.

"Are we there yet?" he asked nervously.

"Eager, are we?" his companion laughed. "Be pleased, Reg darling. We are indeed here."

Bella's words did nothing to increase Regulus' peace of mind. Instead, his stomach churned in a most unpleasant way.

 _I don't want to do this_.

He looked at the solitary cottage nestled in the dark countryside. It looked so quiet, so peaceful. But not for long...

Standing alone and cold, fingering his wand, Regulus couldn't help long for Sirius' warm company. His mind went back to the days spent in laughter and joy with his older brother, the happy days of childhood. But they were gone; Sirius was gone too. Now he had only Bella, who had taken him along to teach him 'how to show the muggles their place'. He did not have the courage to refuse, especially after signing up to the Dark Lord's service, but he wasn't really eager to do this. _They are people too_ , a part of his mind whispered, only to be hurriedly suppressed by the rest of him.

The house was small and very homely in appearance, its little garden well-kept. Bella walked up to the door. She was too sure of herself; she had not donned her mask, only the black hooded cloak.

"Knock, knock." She winked at Regulus, and with a flick of her wand, the door blasted back.

"Come on," she urged impatiently as she strode forward. Regulus followed her quickly.

They had hardly walked five steps when an old man ran from inside.

"Who are you? What do you want?" he demanded.

Bellatrix said nothing, just smiled wickedly.

"Watch and learn, little cousin," she whispered to Regulus. Her eyes glittered with malice as her lips curled in disdain. "Crucio," she purred.

The effect was immediate. The man screamed and was lifted off the floor. He writhed in mid-air, screaming in pain, before his body crashed to the floor. Bella smiled in satisfaction.

"This is how you do it, Reg," she said, as if she were teaching him a delicate art. "Watch him writhe. Hear him scream. Isn't that so delightful?"

Regulus couldn't find anything about it delightful in the least. He felt ill. He just wanted to go home and shut his eyes and wipe the image of what was happening before his eyes from his mind.

"John!" A shout came from within. _Whoever you are, don't come,_ Regulus prayed in vain. Seconds later, a tiny lady with gray hair tied up in a bun ran into the room. She froze as she saw Bella standing over (what Regulus assumed was) her husband, Regulus' form beside her and her husband's twisting, screaming figure.

"Wh-what?" she whispered, looking like she was about to faint.

"Another plaything!" Bella cackled. "You can practice on this one, Regulus. _Petrificus totalus!_ "

The woman fell to the floor, frozen, her eyes wide and terrified.

"This one's yours," Bella told him. "But for now, watch and learn."

Regulus watched with growing horror as Bella stepped closer to the man.

"Filth," she whispered, "you are of no use you the world, but you can be made use of." She lowered her wand. The man stopped jerking, but lay gasping on the floor, too weak to move. And then with elaborate slowness, she began tracing her wand in the air over the man. And with every move, the man's skin and muscle split open, and blood gushed out freely.

"Can you see his filthy blood, Regulus?" Bellatrix murmured. "This is where it belongs — at our feet."

If Regulus had been younger, he would have clapped his ears over his hands to block out the man's screams. But now, he only clenched his eyes shut and felt bile rise in his throat as he heard the horrible screams of pain.

"Rodolphus likes to kill straight away, but I like this better," he heard Bella say. "Where's the fun if you can't hear your victim scream?"

Regulus wondered how long he could stand it. The screaming and the ripping seemed to go on and on for eternity.

And then it all stopped. There was a ghastly flash of light which fell on his retina, crossing his shut eyelids, a light moan, and then silence. Regulus opened his eyes. There on the floor was a grizzly mess lying in the pool of blood, which could barely be recognised as the owner of the house. He looked at Bella.

"Your turn, little king," she grinned at him. Regulus looked at the frozen woman on the floor. Her eyes were filled with tears, beseeching.

 _I'm sorry_ , Regulus thought. But there was no way he could back out of this now. Not even when he wanted to. He raised his wand, his hand shaking badly.

"Do it," Bella ordered impatiently. She lifted the body-bind from the woman the same instant Regulus whispered _Crucio_.

The woman was thrown off her feet. She hovered in the air for a few moments, and then landed back on the floor with a thump, a small tremor running through her body.

"Tsk, tsk, that won't do at all!" Bellatrix cried. "You have to mean it, silly boy! You have to enjoy the pain, relish the terror!" Her voice grew increasingly maniacal as she spoke, and Regulus stumbled back, more terrified of her than ever.

"Here, let me show you."

Regulus knew he would never forget the screams of the old man and his wife. They would haunt him throughout his life, in sleep and in waking. With every scream that the woman uttered, he felt his nausea heighten, until it became unbearable.

"Stop!" he cried. "Stop it!"

To his surprise, Bella actually stopped. The woman crashed to the floor with the moan, and sunk down, unconscious.

"Is my baby cousin scared?" Bella mocked. "Can't handle it all, Reggie?"

"Stop it, please," was all Regulus could say.

Bella laughed. "Very well, then. You get a D for today's lesson."

As they left, Bellatrix turned and casually muttered, "Avada Kedavra." The body of the woman lifted centimetres from the ground, and then fell back limbly. Regulus just turned away and tried to believe that he hadn't seen it happen.

Regulus didn't bother to say a word of parting to Bella. With a curt nod that was hardly noticeable, he quickly disapparated from the spot.

Moments later, he appeared by his home at 12, Grimmauld Place. Barely managing to keep himself from hurling his dinner over on the ground, he leaned against the wall. He could not suppress the horror that clutched him as the events of the night flashed across his mind. They had been innocent people. They had committed no crime. They had a family, maybe, children and grandchildren perhaps. And now they were dead. And the worst of all — Regulus had seen it with his own eyes — contradicting all the teachings that had been drilled into his head since his childhood, the man's, the muggle's blood had been just as red as his own. Even redder, maybe.

His eyes strayed to his forearm. The Dark Mark branded on it seemed to leer at him. Regulus closed his eyes in revulsion, and only opened them when they were looking at the sky. The brightest star twinkled from amidst a frame of clouds.

"Oh Merlin," he murmured, hating himself and the path that he had chosen. "What have I done?"


	5. The Muggle Way

**Emotion prompt: Fascinated**

 **Characters: Arthur Weasley, OC**

 **Summary: Everything that muggles do never cease to fascinate Arthur.**

* * *

Mr Jettyson was a very proud man that day. His position was at the moment not a very comfortable one, but still he was a very, very proud man. Perhaps the proudest in all Devon.

He was at the said moment perched on his roof, struggling to properly adjust a large wired antenna. Sweat beads trickled down his chin as he worked under the hot July sun, but all that was beside the point. The point was that Mr Jetttyson was fixing a _television_ antenna. _His_ television antenna. And that was a thing to be proud of indeed.

Televisions were a craze all over England. Ever since the contraption came out to the public some years ago, everyone had been wanting to buy one. The pictures moving on the screen and the delight of watching it with your family and friends was quite exquisite. And what was more, televisions had become a status symbol. You had one, you were a big man.

This last reason applied most to Mr Jettyson. Admittedly, more than half of England's population owned a television now, but there was only one other television owner in the little village of Ottery St Catchpole. The signals were rather poor here (so he had heard from Jim Luggler, the first television owner of the village, looked upon constantly with a jealous eye by Mr Henry Jettyson). But who cared? He owned a _television_. Everyone could see the antenna on the roof. And they would admire it, and he was so proud.

As he worked, something caught in his peripheral vision. A mass of something of a decidedly shocking ginger shade. Carefully moving so that he wouldn't slip his footing, he turned to look at it.

It was a boy around eight to nine years of age. He had a mop of slightly curly ginger hair, and his face was dotted with freckles. He was leaning on the picket fence that surrounded Mr Jettyson's house, and was staring up at the antenna with absolute fascination. Mr Jettyson blinked at him.

"What you staring at, boy?" he called out.

The boy flashed a sheepish grin at being caught staring, but otherwise looked quite unfazed.

"What is that you are fixing?" the boy asked.

"It's a television antenna," he replied. He had expected admiration and some amount of envy to show on the boy's face, but instead, what slipped in along with the interested look was some amount of confusion.

"What is a telavesion?" he asked.

Mr Jettyson stared. There couldn't possibly a single person in Britain, old or young, who had not heard of a television. And to call it a 'telavesion'...

"A _television_ ," he said, stressing on every syllable, "is a device where you can watch...the things that they show on it." He didn't really know how to explain it; after all, he had never given much thought to _why_ he wanted a television and what exactly it was for. "Living under a rock, boy? Everyone knows what a television is."

If the boy was hurt by his words, he didn't show it. He still wore his sunlit smile and the look of interest never left his face.

"What what does this thing look like?" he asked.

Again, this question made Mr Jettyson stare in bewilderment, but he answered it, just to humour the boy. Anyway, this question was much easier, and so he set on describing the great box-like device with its numerous knobs with enthusiasm. When he had finished, the boy nodded thoughtfully.

"So it is like a giant picture box."

That was certainly not how Mr Jettyson would have described his dearest television, but he nodded anyway.

A bright, admiring smile appeared on the boy's lips. His eyes shone.

"You people are really amazing!" he said. Mr Jettyson blinked. What did he mean by 'you people'? But the boy rambled on before he could open his mouth to ask.

"You are always making one new thing after another. You have those cars and motorcycles that are zooming around everywhere," he pronounced 'motorcycles' very carefully, as if he needed to recall the name with a lot of concentration. "Then you got those fellytones," it took Mr Jettyson ten seconds to realise that the boy was referring to the telephone.

"It's telephone, boy!" he barked, astounded. But the boy was already off again, lost in his thoughts.

"And those wonderful screws and nuts and hammer that you use, and oh, those escapators —"

"Escalator!"

"— and now you got this tevelision!"

"IT IS CALLED A _TELEVISION_!"

But the boy didn't pay him the least attention, lost in his musings. "I wish I could get to use these things, and make them too! They are all so fascinating!"

He was about to go on, but suddenly, from down the street, came a call: "Arthur!"

The child stopped instantly and turned. So did Mr Jettyson, who was in the process of wondering if the boy had a mental problem, or was from another planet, or simply plain dense.

The lady had long dark hair, and carried an imperial air around her. She was walking down the lane towards the boy.

"Arthur!" she called again, her clear voice ringing through the street. "You have been running around the village again? I told you to feed the chickens!"

Arthur smiled sheepishly. "Yes, mum, I have fed the chickens and put them in the coop." He ran over to cross the small distance between them.

"But you should really see these things, mum! They have made this new picture box — the tevilesson! That thing that the man's fixing, it carries signals of some sort to a big box that's inside the house."

The lady just smiled, shaking her head, and ushered the boy on.

"I am sorry that my son disturbed you. He's rather curious, you know," she called to Mr Jettyson. He only nodded, stunned and uncomprehending.

The last thing that he heard the boy say, before he went out of hearing range, was: "I want to learn this stuff some day, mum. Muggles are geniuses!"

Mr Jettyson sat on the roof, clinging on to his antenna, wondering what on earth could 'muggle' mean.


	6. She Remembered

**Emotion prompt: Humiliated**

 **Characters: Mary Cattermole**

 **Summary:** **The accusation of stealing magic was the greatest humiliation Mary Cattermole had faced in her life.**

* * *

She remembered the time when they came for her.

 _She remembered the day she had got her letter from Hogwarts. She remembered the crest representing the four houses as if it were yesterday, and the thick, heavy parchment which invited her as a student. She had been so disbelieving, unable to accept that magic existed (but then, what were all those times when strange things kept happening around her?) and so were her parents. But she remembered the acceptance, the understanding and the excitement, that she was really a witch and she was going to Hogwarts._

 _And most vividly of all, she remembered the joy as she realised that she was special._

She remembered how they had shown up at her place when Reg was gone to work, holding that grand, official-looking parchment right at her face. She remembered them telling what they thought of her, what the Ministry thought of her, what the 'world' thought of her. She remembered her confusion, her incredulity.

 _She remembered her first visit to Diagon Alley. It was such a wonderful place; she had felt so small and so lost, and so amazed. There were so many people there — so many billowing cloaks and pointed hats and screeching owls and... it was nothing like anything she had ever seen before. She remembered jumping around, pulling her parents from one shop to another, pressing her nose against the glass windows of the shops and staring in wonder. But despite being overwhelmed, she felt what she now knew — she belonged here, in this world._

She remembered bringing out her wand, telling her that it was her own, that she had used it for over twenty years, for every little and great thing. She had told her its specifications to the finest details, and the experiences she had shared with it. She remembered her desperation, her frantic tone. She had argued to the last breath she could muster.

She remembered how they had laughed. How they had snatched it from her hand and tossed it to the floor, proclaiming that it was a stolen tool.

 _She remembered entering Ollivander's to get her wand. It was probably the vividest memory of her life; she'd never forget it. The mysterious air of the shop, the towering piles of slim boxes that had wands of so many lengths and textures. And then the wandmaker himself — ancient, ageless, and unnerving in the way his trained eyes looked into her soul. She remembered the wand selecting process — singeing a bit of Ollivander's hair with one, breaking a glass vase with another. And finally she had got it — ten and a quarter inch, cedar and phoenix feather, surprisingly swishy. She remembered the warm, comforting sensation it gave as her hand closed around it. It would be her companion for a lifetime, she had thought._

She remembered how close she had come to losing that companion. She remembered how she had repeated the details of her wand accurately, and how she had recounted the day she had got it, only to be jeered at.

 _She remembered her days at Hogwarts — learning her lessons, enjoying flying, meeting Reg and their first kiss. She remembered her nine OWLs and the six outstandings she had got in them, and the five out standings and two E's that she had scored in the NEWTs. She remembered how proud her professors had been, how they had praised her._

She remembered her time at the Ministry, where they had dragged her in, and that horrid woman, denying again and again her frantic claims of being genuinely magical.

She was now safe, although hiding, thanks to the strange man who had impersonated Reg. But no matter how much time passed, she knew she would never forget those terrible days, the accusations, the insults. She remembered, and she would always remember.

They had called her non-magical. They had called her a fraud. A liar. A criminal. A mudblood. A thief.

Mary Cattermole had never been so humiliated in her life.

* * *

 **A/N: Although many might object at Ministry workers being so jeering and insulting, in this story, I imagined them to be similar to snatchers, as those lots too, worked with the Ministry. I you wish, you can think of them as snatchers too.**

 **Review please! :)**


	7. His Son

**Emotion Prompt: Proud**

 **Characters: Amos Diggory, Cedric Diggory**

 **Summary: If there was someone Amos was even prouder of than him** **self, it was Cedric.**

* * *

 **Not my favourite story... But please bear with me. Got low on inspiration *sheepish grin***

* * *

People said that Amos Diggory was a proud, self-obsessed man. He was always considering his work and his thoughts and his opinions to be fine, and it often offended people. At school, he had lost many a girl who had fallen for his good looks and charms because he often lost himself in talking about himself. And growing up, this habit of his did diminish slightly, but it was still there, annoying people.

But there was something that Amos was even more proud of than himself. It was his son. It was Cedric.

Ever since he laid his eyes on his baby son, at the little boy's rosy face, chubby cheeks and fisted hands, lying so sweet and innocent beside his wife, he knew that this was the best child in the world. He had been the proudest man on all of the earth.

When little Cedric had uttered his first word, it had been 'papa'. Alicia, his wife, had been delighted, but Amos' pride and joy was beyond words.

Cedric began walking at the age of exactly ten months, three whole months before the child next door, who had been born in the same week as him. Amos couldn't contain his smug smile that bloomed as he watched his son accomplish the feat.

Cedric was a quick learner. Amos himself taught his little boy to fly, and no one else was more delighted than him when the four years old mastered the Shooting Star at only his second attempt.

When Cedric got his Hogwarts letter, the only person who was happier than him was perhaps Amos.

Cedric got sorted to his father's house. It is probably needless to describe said man's pride and joy at the news.

As he sat at home while his son went through the same steps of learning that he had at the beloved school, Amos got one good news after another. His boy became a prefect. Then he became the Hufflepuff quidditch captain. He even beat the Boy Who Lived — _Harry Potter_ , at quidditch.

Amos had no longer any time to brag about himself; he was too busy talking about his son. Cedric, the sweet, humble boy that he was, often became embarrassed at his father's praise, but Amos didn't care. His Cedric was the best son a man could ask for, and he was going to make sure that the world knew that.

When his son became the Hogwarts champion at the Triwizard Tournament, Amos actually wept with joy. Within an hour of getting the news, every person alive who had ever known Amos Diggory knew that his son had entered the Triwizard Tournament.

Amos kept track of every achievement of his son in the tasks, and with every passing day, he grew prouder and prouder still.

He saw his son on the day of the third task, and looking at his athletic figure, the small smile and the humble expression adorning his face, Amos knew for sure who was going to win the Tournament.

He saw his son when he and Potter appeared out of nowhere that dreadful night. He saw that blank, lifeless face, and even as his body and heart screamed in denial, he knew that somehow, all was lost. As he cradled the body which was his greatest treasure, as he grew oblivious to his surroundings, as he cried and cried his heart out, Amos knew just one thing.

He was the proudest, and the unluckiest father in the whole world.


	8. What's There to Fight for

**Emotion Prompt: Pessimistic**

 **Characters: Aberforth Dumbledore, Minerva McGonagall**

 **Summary: Aberforth has very little faith in the resistance against the growing darkness. There is someone who differs.**

* * *

The Hog's Head was as crowded as ever, which was to say, not at all. The place never really had many patrons, what with it so severely lacking in the warmth and hospitality that The Three Broomsticks offered only a street away. Aberforth Dumbledore stood at the bar, wiping a glass tumbler with his grimy rag, his face set in an eternal frown. There were only two customers in the pub — a warty old lady shuffling a pack of cards all by herself while nursing a bottle of firewhiskey, and a thin old man, who was just sitting there, doing nothing at all. The place was eerily quiet, with only the flap-flap-flick of the cards being shuffled and the muffled squeaks made by the rag being rubbed against the glass in Aberforth's hand being the only audible sounds.

Suddenly, the door was pushed open with a loud creak and gush of cold wind swept into the pub. The witch's card-shuffling faltered. The man twitched slightly. Aberforth paused his work and looked at the door.

Minerva McGonagall walked into the pub, tall and erect, and shutting the door, walked towards the bar. By mutual understanding, Aberforth put down his glass and leaned over the table.

"Take up a chair," he offered in his usual gruff tone. McGonagall gave a curt nod and dragged a chair to sit near him.

"They made Snape headmaster," she whispered in an anguished tone. "And... and the Carrows are in for teaching."

"That was only to be expected," Aberforth replied, pushing a glass of firewhiskey towards her. "Here, have this."

McGonagall nodded jerkily, and brought the glass to her lips. The lady who was usually stern as iron was evidently shaken.

"I can't believe that the same man who murdered Albus Dumbledore will now control the magical education of Britain. And Death Eaters in the school... unthinkable!" She shuddered. "What is the school coming to?"

"The whole country is coming to this, Minerva," Aberforth said grimly. "And if You Know Who gets his time, perhaps this will go abroad."

"Don't say that," McGonagall said in a rather harsh tone. "We will fight. We _are_ fighting."

"Oh, yes?" Aberforth gave a bitter laugh. "And what chance we have of winning that fight, my dear Minerva? Haven't you noticed how much You Know Who has taken over things? The Minister is his puppet, the Ministry his toy. He is spreading terror all around, threatening, killing, controlling. He's even taken over Hogwarts now. The whole wizarding community is his now."

"What are you implying?" Minerva asked sharply. "Are you on the enemy's side or ours?"

"I am certainly not with the enemy," Aberforth's tone became even rougher. "All I am saying that only fools cling on to false hope."

Minerva flinched as if she were slapped. "Albus had planned—"

Aberforth's laugh was absolutely mirthless, harsh and cold. It seemed a mockery of the gesture that indicated people's joy and amusement.

"Albus! Albus! Of course _Albus_ had planned _everything_ , my genius brother. All that Albus had ever done in his life was plan, plan and scheme. And how many of them worked? How many of them helped?" His eyes strayed to the portrait of the young girl on the wall. "The greater good, my foot." He turned to McGonagall. "And where is he now, Minerva? Buried six feet deep inside a marble tomb. And what has he left behind? Nothing! A plan which no one knows about other than a boy who has his own life to worry about, a plan which I doubt anyone even understands! And I doubt that any good will come out of it."

The Transfiguration professor was glaring at the old barman. But Aberforth continued, looking a roughed up, angrier version of Albus Dumbledore.

"What _is_ left to fight with? Your precious Albus is gone. The Order's finished. Most people are in hiding. Random men and women are dying every day. What is there to fight with?" His eyes went again to his sister's picture, and turned older and sadder. "What is there to fight _for_?" he added in an inaudible whisper.

"So you'd just accept things as they are?" McGonagall demanded. "Have you really lost all of it so that there's nothing for you to fight?" Her voice rose with every word, and the last word was accompanied by a loud crack of the glass hitting the table, at which the warty witch dropped two of her cards.

"I—" Aberforth began. But Minerva McGonagall's nostrils were flared; her eyes were flashing.

"I don't believe it. I _refuse_ to believe it — that you are cowardly enough to really be that hopeless. Albus might have been right or wrong, but that doesn't change this — there's a war going out there, and we will need all of our strength and will to win it. All of us." With a deep breath, she mastered her anger. "I hope that you realise that soon." She pushed the glass away. "Thank you for the drink."

And with that, she strode out of the pub, the door creaking shut behind her.

Aberforth stared at the spot she had left for a long time. Then with a sigh and a shake of his head, he began to wipe a glass with his dirty dishcloth again, blackening its surface just as he kept blackening his thoughts. Once more, a profound silence fell in the Hog's Head.

-o0o-

 _A few months later —_

Aberforth was alone in the Hog's Head, and his hand was moving on the mugs with the dishcloth in an automatic rhythm. Suddenly, a voice roused him.

"Well, I'll be damned! It's the Hog's Head!"

He turned around to the source of the voice, only to see two heads crammed in Ariana's portrait beside her smiling figure, head and shoulder. From the last time they had come to the pub (which was only once, two years ago), he knew them to be Neville Longbottom and Seamus Finnigan. His bushy eyebrows rose in shock.

"Um, you —" the Longbottom boy began.

"Aberforth," he grunted.

"Yes, uh... Actually, we are in need of food. We are hiding from our teachers at Hogwarts, the Carrows that is. So I was wondering if you could help us..."

The thoughts and arguments that he had used all this time came back to him. _What's there to fight for? This is a meaningless attempt. The Order is gone._

But here were these two, still standing against the tyranny, still rebelling. Without warning, the strong voice that he had heard a few months ago rushed upon him — ' _There's a war going out there, and we will need all of our strength and will to win it. All of us.'_

He looked straight at the two young men.

"Tell me what you need."


	9. Dead Beat

**Emotion Prompt: Exhausted**

 **Characters: Alicia Spinnet**

 **Summary: Alicia just can't go on anymore.**

* * *

Alicia felt like she was about to die.

Her lungs were short of breath, her heart was thumping as loud as a drum, her whole body was sticky with the sweat that kept pouring out of every pore of her skin. She could hear the rush of blood thundering in her ears. Her body screamed out the message to her — _STOP_! But she knew she _couldn't_ stop. There was simply no choice. The only thing she could do was run.

Her legs felt heavier than lead with every footfall, her muscles groaning as she exerted them, stretching them to their limits. Alicia let her lips part and gulped down air, trying to keep up with her rapidly depleting supply of oxygen. What she wouldn't do to fall down on a bed and sleep! She was completely exhausted, dead tired. She couldn't run any more. She was sick of running. She was tired of it.

But she couldn't, of course. She had to keep going. She could hear heavy footsteps behind her, even _beside_ her, running, chasing. And that meant that there was no way she could stop. Oh Merlin, how she wished she could just drop down. She would drop down, if she didn't stop soon.

 _Just a little more,_ she told herself, _And then it will be over. Just a little longer_. And so she ran, ran with everything she had, until...

Until she saw the line. And with a bound which felt as if it would cost her her life, she crashed to the ground. And another body fell on top of her, and another, until Alicia was at the bottom of a great pileup.

"Guys... _Move_!" she managed to mumble, loud enough for everyone to hear, so that, thankfully, she was drinking in the air within seconds.

"Two.. Laps!" she gasped. "Oliver... Mad!"

Said Quidditch captain was beaming down at her, looking as fresh and unfazed as ever.

"And Alicia stands first!" he announced. "Look at her, lazybones. You could learn some speed from her."

"I'd like _you_ to do that," Angelina glared at him. "You were simply hovering with your lousy butt on the broom."

"What's the benefit of running on the pitch anyway? This is quidditch, not some stupid muggle game," Katie demanded. Oliver opened his mouth to reply, but Fred beat him to it.

"But of course," he said, "Our dear captain wants us to look our best at all times —"

"— so that we look in fine form even when we are on the ground after falling from the broom," George finished, his cheeks red from exertion, while his twin mimed his words.

"Shut up, you two," Oliver grumbled. "I want the team in the best form this year. We must win the cup this time. And with the sort of pathetic seekers we get every year," he glared at Saunder Adams, who was currently flying high in the air, still looking for the snitch which had been released twenty five minutes ago, "We'd better have the rest of the team to make up for it."

"I still don't understand why we need to do _two_ laps of the pitch," Alicia protested. "No other team does that."

"It's because I, as the captain, say so!" Oliver exploded. "And you, as my teammates, will follow! Now up! I want another lap before you take to your brooms."

"But Oliver —"

"Two!" the captain snapped. Everyone groaned.

"Bloody captain," Alicia heard George mutter as they miserably shuffled to their feet. She agreed with him completely on this one. It looked like her poor legs would be completely out of order by tomorrow.

 _Whoever becomes seeker next year,_ she prayed, trying her best to ignore the tiredness growing over her again as she started to jog, _You'd better be bloody good._

* * *

 **A/N:This story is set in 1990, that is, the year before Harry entered Hogwarts and became Gryffindor seeker.**


	10. Sorry

**Emotion prompt: Apologetic**

 **Characters: Remus Lupin, Lyall Lupin**

 **Summary:** **No matter how many times he says sorry, Lyall can't get over the guilt of the curse that he brought over his son.**

* * *

Pain. That was all Remus could feel as he felt himself return to consciousness. His whole body was on fire; he couldn't understand what was going on. He managed to force his eyes to flutter open. And the first thing he saw was his father, kneeling beside him so that he was at level with him. Tears were running in endless cascades from his eyes.

Remus didn't understand what was wrong. Sure, he was hurting all over, but why was Dad crying? He couldn't comprehend, but to his five years old self, all that mattered was that his Dad was crying and that was very wrong.

"Dad?" he whispered.

Lyall looked up, stunned at his son's voice. He stared at him for one full minute, drinking every bit of his son's scarred, bloodied, battered figure and the amber eyes that still shone bright, and then the tears flowed once again, at the double.

"I'm — I'm so sorry, son," he croaked out, his tears wetting Remus' sheets.

"Dad?" Remus asked, aghast. "Dad, what's wrong?"

But his father would not reply. The tears continued to fall like little diamonds in the dim light.

-o0o-

Remus stared out of the window at the group of children playing outside in the snow. He wanted to join them. He wanted to play. They had moved house again last week; Remus didn't know why. He knew that he wasn't supposed to ask questions; his parents would say something if he did, of course, but the answers, somehow, never seemed to be the truth to him. It wasn't as if he missed his last home. He had no friends there. He had no friends at all. He never got to go out and mingle with other children. His parents tried their best to entertain him, but it could never be the same. Remus knew that Mum and Dad were doing their best to make him happy, so he never complained.

As he stared out of the window, a shadow suddenly appeared over him. Remus turned. It was his father. For a couple of seconds, neither spoke, each staring into the other's eyes. But Remus' longing and loneliness must have shown on his face, because his father's eyes softened and grew sadder.

"No, Remus, you can't go to play outside," he said with a sad smile. "I'm so sorry."

Remus sighed internally, and turned back to look outside.

-o0o-

When Remus woke up shivering, he had no idea where he was and what had happened. He was naked, as he always was after every full moon night, when he turned into... into the monster that he was. There was a painful throb in his side. He raised his hand slowly to where it was hurting the most, and found his fingers covered in blood. What had happened?

It was then that he was aware of laboured breathing near him. He looked up, and met his father's amber eyes. He was shaking all over, fallen on the floor. His trembling hands held a wand, pointed at him.

"R-Remus," he whispered, his voice shaking just as badly as the rest of him, "I'm — I'm so sorry."

Remus stared uncomprehendingly at him. And then it came upon him. He wasn't in the atticattic in which he used to transform. And there were bleeding claw marks on his father's arm.

With growing horror, he turned to look behind him.

The door that led to the attic was broken to bits.

-o0o-

Remus looked from room to room, searching for the copy of 'A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration' that Dad had given him. He had already read the book twice, and loved every bit of it. By the age of ten, his father had given him practically all of his own school books to read. Remus couldn't wait to get his own wand and start learning magic properly.

To keep him entertained, Dad often told him stories of his days at Hogwarts. Remus knew all about it now — quidditch, Hogsmeade, Sorting, the four houses, the exams and the teachers and the ghosts... all of it. And Remus couldn't wait to go to Hogwarts himself.

As he kept looking around, he came to the room where Mum and Dad slept. Momentarily contemplating whether there was any chance of the book being there, and then deciding against it, he turned to leave. But then voices from inside made him freeze and edge closer to the door.

"Why do you keep telling him all those stories about your school, Lyall?" he heard his mother say, her voice agitated.

"It's only to keep him happy, Hope," Dad replied. "He can't even go out and play with others. Telling him these stories to entertain him is the least I can do."

"But telling him stories of a place where he will never go? You yourself told me that he can't go to Hogwarts. What will happen when he finds out that all the dreams of the school are for nothing?"

Dad was saying something, but Remus wasn't listening anymore. He wouldn't be going to Hogwarts. Of course, with his condition, how did he even think that he would be allowed in? No one would take in a monster. But still, the shock kept rolling over him, overwhelming him. He wasn't going to Hogwarts. He would never see the castle, the quidditch pitch, the pumpkin patch, the greenhouses, nothing. He stumbled back, tripped on his feet, and fell to the floor with a thump.

Bare seconds later, the door flew open. His father stared down at him, surprise in his features, which turned to shocked dismay as he realised what Remus had heard.

"Remus! I — we — how much did you hear?" he stuttered. But Remus said nothing, just stumbled to his feet and started backing away.

"Remus," Lyall took a step forward. Remus backed away two steps. "Remus, please, I'm sorry, son!"

Remus began running up the stairs.

"Remus! I'm sorry! Come back! Remus!" he could hear his father yelling, but he kept running, until he reached his room and locked himself in.

A sob escaped him as he flung himself on the bed. He wasn't going to Hogwarts.

-o0o-

Remus stood by the window looking out at the snow that was swirling thickly in the air outside. He would have stayed at Hogwarts for the Christmas holidays, but after what happened, he just couldn't bear it. He couldn't look at Sirius, his once-best friend, and know that the boy he had trusted so much had betrayed him just like that. No amount of apologising could dilute the anger, outrage and sense of betrayal that rankled. He had hoped that being away from the young Black, away in his home, spending a peaceful Christmas with his parents, would keep his mind from the memories, but the letter clutched in his hand had proved otherwise.

Sirius was still apologising; the letter was from him. Remus didn't know what exactly were his feelings at the moment, but he knew that he wasn't ready to forgive him yet.

He felt someone come up beside him, and the warm hand that was placed on his shoulder told him that it was his father. Remus did not turn, he simply lowered his head, and clutched the letter tighter in his hand, crumpling it.

"Why, Dad?" he whispered. "Why did he do it? How _could_ he do it?" His voice shook as he spoke.

"I don't know, son," Lyall murmured. "But knowing Sirius, he had to be angry beyond reason at the other boy to divulge such a secret."

Remus didn't speak, and hoped what his father had said was true, just for Sirius' sake.

He heard his father sigh after a few moments' pause, and then he said those three words that Sirius had being saying to him all these days, crying, begging, whispering, writing (and he didn't know why his father said it; maybe as an attempt to curb the guilt that had been in his heart all that time, that if Remus weren't a werewolf in the first place, there wouldn't be any secret to betray and then the friendship wouldn't have been broken), he said those words that hardly held any meaning to Remus anymore:

"I am sorry."

-o0o-

Remus sighed as he walked back to his apartment. This was the sixth job that he had lost within the span of three months. James and Sirius had offered to help him out several times, but he was too proud and self-conscious to agree; besides, he didn't want to be a burden on them. He had been giving lame excuses to his landlord, who kept demanding the month's payment from him, and he didn't know how long he was going to keep up with that. His parents often wrote him letters, and he always replied to them with sunny words. Mum and Dad had no idea that Remus was wandering around, job-hunting, because no wizarding firm would employ a werewolf. His condition wasn't easy to hide; most people were shrewd enough to notice it soon.

Adjusting his frayed shirt collar, he climbed up the stairs to his flat. And froze.

His father was staring at him, sitting on a step by his door. Both pair of amber eyes stared at each other, and at that moment, Remus knew that his father knew. He had no idea how his father did it, but there was no doubt that one look at him had told Lyall Lupin of his poor condition.

"Remus!" Lyall stood up.

"Um, hi, Dad." Remus tried to edge close to the darkness, so that his greying hair and thin figure and battered clothing wouldn't be noticeable. But the damage was already done.

"Remus, what happened to you?" Lyall demanded, looking him up and down.

"Oh, Dad, I — uh, a little job issue..." Remus knew he was a terrible liar, and at the moment, cursed his poor ability at saying untruths.

The pained expression on his father's face was heartbreaking.

"Come home with me," Lyall caught him by the shoulder. "Now."

Remus knew he couldn't protest.

As they walked down to the street in silence, Lyall spoke so softly that Remus wasn't even sure if it was him or just the wind:

"I'm sorry, Remus."

-o0o-

Remus sat on his bed, staring away at nothingness. His mind was numb. His heart was shattered. His entire being was wrecked. He knew that outside, people were celebrating, not even bothering to take care of subtlety, so great was their elation, but he felt none of it. He felt hollow, empty, and there was a dull ache in his heart. All that he cared about in the world was lost. Three of his best friends were dead, the other had betrayed them, murdered them. He was alone.

He wished that he too had been killed. At least then he would have been with them.

Suddenly, the bed creaked as someone sat down beside him.

"Remus."

It was his father. Dully, Remus realised that he had left the door open, and anyone, even the enemy could have walked in on him sitting here, unprotected, unarmed. Some other time, he would have been relieved that it was only his father, but now he felt nothing.

"Remus," Lyall repeated, a note of worry and urgency in his voice. "Say something!"

Remus stared at his father, his eyes dull, listless.

"He did it," he whispered at last. "He... he betrayed them. They're dead, Dad." And he trembled.

Lyall gently wrapped an arm around his son, and brought his head close to his chest.

"Shh," he soothed, gently stroking his son's hair as Remus finally wept, letting it all out. "Be strong."

"Why, Dad?" he sobbed, feeling a strong sense of déjà vu in the words and the betrayal as he spoke. "Why did he do it? How _could_ he do it?"

This time, Lyall had no answer.

So Remus cried and cried, held by his father lamenting the loss of the people who had been as good as his family, and as the hours rolled by, he imagined (or it might not have been his imagination) his father's voice whispering again and again, "I'm sorry."

He was sorry too. Sorry that he had not been trusted enough to be the secret keeper, sorry that it had to be _Sirius_ who sold them out, sorry for everything that had happened.

Remus was sorry too.

-o0o-

Remus stood at the empty cemetery, his greying sandy hair swaying in the breeze. His hand clutched the small bouquet of flowers that he had brought with him. Two graves lay side by side before him, one older, the other more recent. For now, his eyes were only for the recent one.

 _Lyall Lupin,_ it said. Remus knelt before it, and gently placed the flowers on the grave.

"Dad," he whispered. He knew that he was not here to speak for long, to pour out his story of misery and pain. No, he was here just to say three small words, to utter one little sentence. He didn't know why he was going to say it. Perhaps it was for being the embodiment of the curse that brought Lyall Lupin endless misery, just because of one small mistake, or maybe for all those times when he had hurt him or even resented him... or possibly as a sincere apology for having forsaken his wife and unborn child, for his father would never have forgiven him, or even himself, for his actions.

Or perhaps it was simply a repayment, a reply of all those times his beloved father had said it to him and broken his heart every time... But whatever be the reason, Remus knew that it was the appropriate thing to say. And so he said it.

"I am sorry."


	11. Hero

**Emotion Prompt: Overwhelmed**

 **Characters: Neville Longbottom**

 **Summary: Neville can't believe that he just won his house the house cup.**

 **Disclaimer: Any dialogues you recognise belong to Rowling, and are from _Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone._**

* * *

The Great Hall was packed for the end-of-year feast. Students were alternating between keeping absolute silence as the headmaster spoke, and cheering (or booing) as the house points were announced.

Neville sat, looking extremely down in the dumps and completely unnoticed among the hoard of Gryffindor students. Professor Dumbledore had just announced the house standings, and Gryffindor was at the bottom position, with only three hundred and twelve points. Neville knew that this large setback of points was due to their midnight adventure a few months back, and he had a rather big role in that. And judging by the ugly looks he was getting from some of his his seniors now and then which made him wish he could sink down into the ground, there were many who had remembered that as well. The sight of the Slytherins celebrating was sickening.

"Yes, Yes, well done, Slytherin," said Dumbledore. "However, recent events must be taken into account."

Startled, Neville looked up. The hall had gone deathly silent.

"Ahem," said Dumbledore. "I have a few last-minute points to dish out. Let me see. Yes…

"First — to Mr. Ronald Weasley…"

Neville watched as Ron went purple in the face,

"… for the best-played game of chess Hogwarts has seen in many years, I award Gryffindor house fifty points."

Neville couldn't help the loud cheers that escaped him along with the other Gryffindors. There was hope yet!

At last there was silence again.

"Second — to Miss Hermione Granger… for the use of cool logic in the face of fire, I award Gryffindor house fifty points." Neville's eyes were wide with delight. He cheered on as the Slytherins' smiles faded to an even greater degree.

"Third — to Mr. Harry Potter…" said Dumbledore. The room went deadly quiet. "… for pure nerve and outstanding courage, I award Gryffindor house sixty points."

Neville gasped. This was unbelievable. He wasn't too good at sums, but if the passing exclamations were correct, then they had exactly the sane number of points as Slytherin. They had tied for the house cup. At that moment, through the joy, Neville felt a twinge of disappointment — if only Dumbledore had given Harry just one more point...

But then, Dumbledore raised his hand. The room gradually fell silent.

"There are all kinds of courage," said Dumbledore, smiling. Neville stared. Where was this going? Weren't all the points already meted out?

"It takes a great deal of bravery to stand up to our enemies, but just as much to stand up to our friends. I therefore award ten points to Mr. Neville Longbottom."

Neville blinked. Everything seemed to stop; only Dumbledore's words kept echoing in his head. He had won ten points. He had won _ten_ points, which meant... which meant that Gryffindor had won. He had hardly got a couple of seconds to process that, when he was suddenly at the bottom of a pile of people, all hugging and congratulating him.

"Congrats, Neville!"

"Way to go, Longbottom!"

"Well done!"

The congratulations, the hugs and the thumps on the back kept raining. But Neville sat still in his seat, too overwhelmed to move. He, Neville Longbottom, who had never earned anything more than scoldings and disappointed glances and scornful looks, never getting so much as one point ever in his school year, had won ten points which had led his house to victory. He, a nobody, was being held as a hero. He couldn't believe this.

He hardly heard the cheers of his housemates and even the students of Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw, or Dumbledore's announcements about changing the decorations. He hardly noticed how the large snake on the banner turned into the golden lion, how all specks of green and silver were wiped in a wave of red and gold, and how the Slytherins looked various shades of outraged, disappointed and sick. He just sat there, trying to grasp the enormous truth of it all.

He, Neville Longbottom, had achieved something for the first time in his life.

-o0o-

As the Hogwarts express moved into the King's Cross station, Neville stumbled out to the platform. People were still grinning at him, congratulating and high-fiving him. There was no longer any bitterness when they stared st him.

He found his grandmother waiting near the Barrier.

"Well," she asked in her usual brisk way. "How was your school year?"

Neville looked at her, and his face split into a goofy grin.

"I won Gryffindor ten points."


	12. The Only One

**Emotion prompt: Nervous**

 **Characters/pairings: [Remus,Sirius], James**

 **Summary: Sirius can't bring himself to confess his feelings to Remus. Can he?**

 **This is specially dedicated to you, Hannah! This is my first Wolfstar fic.**

* * *

"For Merlin's sake, Sirius, just do it!"

James watched his best friend with a combination of exasperation, amusement and mild concern. Said friend was rubbing his sweaty palms on his cloak, despite the time being mid-December, and casting nervous glances at a certain werewolf sitting just a bench ahead.

Sirius glanced at James. "What if he doesn't like me?"

James sighed. He knew his friends thought it annoying when he went on about Lily, and he was getting to know just how annoying he was, if Sirius was anything like him. Throughout the History of Magic period, the Black heir had been staring at the back of Remus' head (the werewolf had nodded off under the effect of Professor Binns' drone, and so was oblivious to his best friends' muttered conversation), the conflict going on in his mind all too clear. James had known about his friend's crush on his other best friend, and was desperate for the two to get together. The lovesick look on the school heart-throb Sirius Black was get on his nerves.

"Of course he likes you," James said. "He's your best friend, after all."

Apparently that was the wrong thing to say. Sirius' nervousness only heightened. On the face of one who was always overbearingly confident, it was almost unsettling.

"You know I don't want him to like me _that_ way, Prongs," he whispered.

"Well, uh, of course he likes you the other way too."

"How do you know?" Sirius pressed on.

"It's so obvious, Padfoot," James sighed. "In fact, it's obvious to everyone other than you two that you are head over heels for each other."

Sirius blushed. "Are you sure?"

"Of course I am." James ruffled his hair. "I know everything concerned about love."

"Except how to get Evans," Sirius sniggered. James hit him on the head with his book.

Just then, the bell rang, announcing the end of class. All the students jumped, coming out of their daydreams (or actual dreams in many cases) and Binns floated out of the classroom through the blackboard.

"Do it now!" James urged as he saw Remus stand up and collect his stuff. "Go, Sirius."

Nodding, Sirius took a couple of steps forward, but then halted. "What if I mess it up, James?" he said uncertainly. "What if he hates me after this? I don't want to ruin our friendship."

James rolled his eyes. "If that happens, I will obliviate him. Now go!"

-o0o-

"Remus! Hey Remus!" Sirius screeched to a halt as he saw his friend (and crush) stop and turn around.

"What is it, Sirius?" Remus asked curiously.

"I —" Sirius stumbled. "I... uh, could we go somewhere more private?"

Remus nodded bemused, and together, they entered an unused classroom.

"So what is it?" Remus asked as he sat down.

"I—" Sirius could feel his palms sweating again. He was getting breathless.

"Yes?" Remus prompted.

"I..." _Just do it,_ his heart prompted. "I'm... I love you," he blurted out.

"What?" Remus' eyes widened.

"I love you. I'm in love with you." The words were easier to say now that he had said them once.

"You— are in love with _me_?" Remus asked faintly.

"Y-yes." Sirius felt his tie become too tight. This was all wrong. Remus didn't like him. Their friendship would be broken. "It's o-okay if you don't like me," he continued, stumbling. "I just —"

But he didn't get to finish his sentence, because suddenly Remus' soft lips were on his, silencing him. Sirius began to feel breathless again, this time for a completely different reason.

"I'm so glad you told me!" Remus beamed at him when they pulled away. "I was so worried and hopeless, thinking that I stood no chance after all the hoards of girls after you."

"You were the only one," Sirius said softly, smiling. He felt warm and utterly content.

"But you should have told me earlier!" he huffed. "To think that you gave me all those hours of uncertainty and worries. You will have to make up for that, Remus Lupin."

Remus smiled, brushing Sirius' hair out of his eyed with his long fingers. He leaned in, his lips brushing tantalisingly against Sirius' ear.

"I can make it up to you anyway you like."


	13. Don't Give Up

**Emotion prompt: Disheartened**

 **Characters: Peter Pettigrew, Remus Lupin**

 **Summary: Being miserable in the skills in which your best friends excel can be more than a little disheartening.**

* * *

Peter stared at the large number of books and notes scribbled on parchments that were scattered all around him in a large semicircle. Exams were in four days. He had no clue what to do.

There was no one other than him in the fourth year dorm. James and Sirius had gone out to amuse themselves, having worn out their patience after sitting with him for an hour (their preparations for the exams were already done), and Remus had not been released from the hospital wing yet, last night being a full moon night. Peter was alone and unassisted in carrying his burden.

Sometimes he really wished that he were even a little more intelligent.

Peter had always felt privileged in being allowed to be in league with such gifted students as James, Remus and Sirius. He never got tired of admiring them in all their talents — James' awesome flying skills and how he caught the snitch unwaveringly all the time when he was not in the game, Sirius' incomparable good looks and suave ways, and how girls seemed to be attracted to him like moths to flame (and Merlin knows Peter had so often tried to copy his attitude, but always failed miserably), and Remus' quiet excellence and soft nature... He always felt he was so lucky to have them. They had saved his skin more than a few times. The company and friendship of Hogwarts' three most talented students of the age was something not everyone could boast of.

But it also highlighted just how different, how pathetic he was compared to them. James could juggle everything that he put his hand on with his studies, and yet get good marks, that too without trying. With the amount of time he spent in trying to impress Evans, one would have thought otherwise, but no, James was still McGonagall's favourite student (although she never admitted it aloud), and that was saying a lot. Sirius... Peter hardly ever saw him with a book (and yet he knew that Sirius _had_ to study, but he didn't quite know when he did), but his theory knowledge was profound, not to mention his hands on duelling skills. Peter had seen him with his wand out, and he never wanted to be at the wrong side of it. The three of them had been attempting to become Animagi over the last two years, and without James and Sirius' help, Peter knew that he wouldn't be able make even the little progress he was making. Then there was Remus. Kind, gentle, clever Remus. He never bragged about his skills nor showed them off, but he was every bit as talented as the other two. During the exams, Remus was one of the few who were always calm and collected.

And then there was Peter himself, so lacking, so talentless. He was a tag-along, the follower. He knew that that was what many people said about him, and although his friends never acted in any way to make him feel that way, he knew at times that it was true. Even after four years of friendship, four years of sharing the same dorm with them, he still hadn't managed to improve, to hone his skills to attain the same caliber as them.

Perhaps if he had been keeping company of less talented folk, he wouldn't be so acutely aware of his shortcomings. But here, there was no choice. He had to watch everyday as McGonagall gave Outstandings to his three friends, while he got an A or even a P at times in his tests. He had to blush, embarrassed, on stumbling with his spells and muddling them up while his friends perfected them in their first tries. And here he was, alone and hopeless, drowning in despair, while his friends were outside, because they had already prepared themselves for the exams.

Being miserable in the skills in which your best friends excelled could be more than a little disheartening.

Peter stared at the study materials in front of him. Here were James' Transfiguration notes on the Gamp's Laws of Transfiguration, and the steps to change animals to non-living things. Here was his Charms book, open at the fundamentals of the silencing charm and his uses, and there were, in Sirius' writing, an essay about Dementors, and then the big, fat book of History of Magic to be read from the start... A tear leaked from Peter's eye even without his even realising it. It was hopeless. He couldn't do it. He pushed his books away with a sigh.

He wished there were someone to help him. He wished he was even a bit better at his studies.

"Peter?"

Startled, Peter looked around. He hadn't heard the dormitory door open, so engrossed was he in his disheartened musings.

Remus was standing by the door. Even as Peter watched, he walked in, painfully placing his steps. There were four new scars on his left arm. Peter suspected there were many more that were his under his garments.

"Y-yes, Remus?" Peter's voice wobbled as his eyes swam with tears. "I — didn't know Pomfrey let your out."

"It's two in the afternoon," Remus shrugged by way of explanation. "What are you doing in here? It's a pleasant day, and I thought I saw James and Sirius outside."

"I'm trying to prepare for the exams," Peter replied. And as he saw the concern in the young werewolf's eyes as he sat down, Peter's despair broke the dam. He burst into tears.

"Peter!" Remus was shocked. "What's wrong?"

"I — I —" he sobbed. "There's only four days to the exams and I haven't d-done anything!"

"Oh, Pete," Remus shifted closer to him and thumped him lightly on the back. "Calm down. I'll help you finish up. And when Sirius and James come in, I'm sure they will, too. No need to panic."

At Remus' soothing tone, Peter found some reassurance.

"You will?" he asked doubtfully. "It will take so long. Why should you take all that trouble?"

"Because that's what friends do," Remus said simply. "I've got all the time in the world for you. All three of us do." He pulled all the books close to him.

"And you'll see, Peter, when we are done, you will receive nothing less than E's, I guarantee you," he smiled.

-o0o-

And after the exams were over and the results were out, Peter found that there was not a single A or P in his result sheet that year. And he knew that he had the best friends in the world.


	14. The Calm Before the Storm

**Emotion prompt: Calm**

 **Characters/ Pairings: [Cho Chang, Cedric Diggory]**

 **Summary: Cho can't understand how Cedric can be so calm before the toughest trial of his life.**

* * *

Darkness cloaked the ancient walls of Hogwarts castle as the night drew on. The moon was only a thin crescent on the sky, and many of the stars, bright and dim, were covered by dense grey clouds. On the tall Astronomy Tower, two students sat holding hands, their feet dangling over the parapet and breeze twirling through their hair. The shorter of the two, with long black hair, leant on the other's shoulder with a small sigh, seeking comfort.

"It's rather unbelievable that the Tournament is coming to an end tomorrow," Cho murmured, the comfort of Cedric's warm shoulder a stark contrast against the cold wind.

"Yes," Cedric replied quietly, "And I'll be glad when it's over."

Cho simply nodded in agreement. She knew she would be, too.

Far at a distance, the maze lay swathed in darkness like a gigantic snare, little lights dotting its twisted ways. It had been not announced yet, but there was no doubt upon looking at it that the maze was the final task. The Champions needed to clear through it to win the Tournament. The idea that Cedric would be inside that monstrous thing the very next day sent a shiver down her spine. She looked at her boyfriend, only to see him looking at the maze as well.

"That is what you'll have to brave through, isn't it?"

Cedric nodded wordlessly, his expression without a speck of fear or anxiety.

"I wonder what sort of hurdles the will keep there," Cho mused.

"They'll do their best to make it the toughest for us, of course," Cedric said in a matter-of-fact voice. "There will be dangerous creatures, I'm sure — boggart, hinkypunks and grindilows, maybe, if they keep it easy, or there may be firecrabs or even sphinxes... and enchantments on the walls and stuff."

Cho stared. Cedric was talking about it all as if it were simply the test syllabus instead of dangerous traps adequate for killing the participants.

"They — they said people died in this before," Cho stammered, suddenly remembering the discussion her friends were having when the organisation of the Triwizard Tournament was announced.

"Yeah," Cedric agreed in a calm tone. "That's why it was banned back then."

"How can you be so calm about this?" Cho cried, finally losing her composure. She couldn't understand how Cedric could talk of this as if it were an everyday event, not something out of which he might never come back alive.

"Aren't you worried?"

Cedric gave her a rueful smile, and for the first time in the darkness Cho noticed his eyes. The bright brown eyes were brimming with uncertainty and grim determination.

"It's not that I am not scared," he admitted quietly, his fingers gently stroking the back of her hand. "I am trying not to show it. Because if I do, Cho," his neutral mask slipped momentarily, "I know that I'll never be able to bring up the courage to complete the task. When I was chosen as the champion, I promised myself that I will make Mum and Dad proud, that I will keep up the name of my school. I told myself that I'll make _you_ proud of me, that I'd make you happy." He brought her hand gently to his lips. "And if I don't force myself to keep calm, I know I will break down."

Cho smiled at him, tears prickling at the corners of her eyes as she marvelled just how lucky she was to have such a wonderful boyfriend.

"Come back safe tomorrow," she whispered, leaning in to kiss him softly on the lips. "I won't be able to bear it if you got hurt."

"I'll come back," he smiled back. "Promise."

And after another kiss, long and deep, as the stars above quivered and the clouds shifted, the two of them slowly made their way back downstairs from the tower.

But of course, storms don't give any warning of their arrival other than an absolute calm which acts as their prelude, nor does Fate like to give indications of the cruel schemes she weaves. The scenery beyond the Hogwarts castle lay in a blanket of beauty and serenity.

But the maze lay there like a massive black hole, waiting to swallow all that came its way.


	15. Mousetrap

**Emotion Prompt: Greedy**

 **Characters: Dudley Dursley**

 **Summary: Dudley has just seen something that catches his fancy.**

* * *

Little Dudley Dursley was hungry. He sat on the floor, his plump limbs planted on the ground, his mouth wide open and slobbering. He had been fed only ten minutes ago (with the uttering of a new word — 'won't') but he wanted something to eat again. The baby food that he had been fed was not at all to his tastes; he wanted something better, like all those nice things that Dad got to eat. Dudley made the usual baby noises, which didn't attract anyone's attention (Petunia was in the kitchen, and out of range for anything other than loud noises, uttering which wasn't an uncommon feat for her little son). Bored and disgruntled, Dudley began to suck his thumb. Better than baby food, but still not much good.

He was just wondering whether he should start bawling to get Mum to fuss over him, when his beady eyes found something much more attractive. There, near the base of the table, was a big chunk of a yellow thing kept on a wooden board with some metal wires, which, from Mum and Dad's usual interactions, Dudley knew was called 'cheese'. And he also knew that it was good to eat. Mum and Dad had a lot of that on the plate, especially Dad. A big grin spreading on his face and with beads of saliva dripping on to the floor, Dudley began tumbling towards his prize.

The way seemed so long, but at long last, Dudley reached the cheese. He fell over twice and bumped against a chair leg once, the desire shining in his eyes the only thing that kept him from bursting into tears like always. Having reached the wonderful yellow food, Dudley let out a gleeful laugh, caused a few more mouthfuls of drool to fall on the floor, and reached out his plump little hand to grab the treasure.

Moments later, Petunia Dursley came running from the kitchen, completely disregarding the roast in the oven which would surely get burnt if kept even a minute or so. All her attention was focused on the loud bawling noise that was floating from, or shaking, the living room.

"My, my, little darling Diddykins, don't cry! Mummy will be there in a moment."

She found her darling son squatting by the table, his face completely red and growing redder by the second, big fat tears running down his cheeks and his mouth with open, uttering scream after scream which kept on getting louder with every passing moment. And his fingers had been caught between the jaw mechanism of a mousetrap.

"Now, Dudley, don't cry!" She prized off his precious fingers from the mousetrap. "Everything is alright. Shh, now."

Over time and Mrs Dursley's fussing, Dudley eventually quietened down. Petunia smiled.

"Now that's a good boy. Who'd like some chocolate?"

As he snuffled on his mother's shoulder, Dudley promised himself that he'd never be greedy again. The throbbing in his fingers was so very painful; they'd be a lesson for life.

But promises were meant to be broken, right?

And did Mum just mention chocolate?


	16. Hopeless

**Emotion prompt: Hopeless**

 **Characters: Charity Burbage**

 **Summary: 'You should have known it was a hopeless endeavor' — The life of Charity Burbage.**

* * *

You should have known it was a hopeless endeavor when you first stepped into the school, the second time in your life after graduating from that very place.

But of course, how could you, when you were young and naïve, believing that you had the power to change the wizarding world's outlook for muggles? When your own education had been in a time just after You Know Who's downfall, when the crises and prejudices of the War were at their lowest? How could you, when the headmaster was so kind and gentle, and you were so eager to serve under him?

So you did not know. And with bright hopes and plans you stepped into the old halls of the school, and sketched lesson plans, resolving to show the magical folk just how equal to them the muggles were.

The classes at first were not bad, and you ignored the jokes made about your spectacles and your quick manner of speaking, as well as the continued disinterest of the few students who took your subject in the first place. But you should have known that it was only the prelude.

They were against you and your teachings. You could hear them mutter amongst themselves and cast scornful glances at you when you tried to tell them that muggles weren't so much different from them. And while you tried to believe that you were unaffected by that, you could feel your dreams shattering, the plans falling apart, the promises made to yourself and Professor Dumbledore fading from existence, your hopes leaving you, little by little.

You burnt your fingers from cursed notes left in the class by students who weren't even in your class; you stammered to answer the merciless onslaught of counterarguments that your words faced. You even shivered at times, reading the papers which wrote of the incessant torture and deaths of muggles and muggleborns alike. And inside, with a sinking feeling, you knew that you could be a prime target too, someday.

But the real shattering of your dwindling hopes occurred the day you heard of the fall of the best headmaster Hogwarts had ever seen. When you heard that Death Eaters had made their way into this sanctuary, the supposedly safest place in all Britain. You were a junior teacher, and nobody cared to inform you much. You did not mind. This information was much more than you had wanted. Because it made you feel that nothing was safe anymore.

So it shouldn't have come as a surprise when they took you. When they bound you and tortured you till you fainted, and then hung you upside down for the entertainment of cold-blooded men and women. But what came as the biggest shock was seeing your colleague, whom you had respected, even loved, sitting below you, staring at you with feelingless black eyes. It was then, as you begged and sobbed for help, clinging to your last hope, that it left you — the little white bird that had promised to stay with humanity when Pandora's curious fingers paved the way for all evils to spread into the world, and it should have been evident to you then that your life, too, would forsake you soon. For what good was a person who had lost all hope? You were alone, forever unaided in your attempts in life.

You should have known it was a hopeless endeavor when you heard yourself cry and the others laugh.

You should have known it was a hopeless endeavor when you saw him raise his wand.

You should have known it was a hopeless endeavor when you saw death rush at you in a flash of green.

What, after all, was there to hope for in the first place?


	17. Why Her?

**Emotion prompt : Hurt**

 **Characters: Hermione Granger**

 **Summary: 'Why her?' she would wonder as she saw them together. Hermione's feelings during Ron's affair with Lavender.**

* * *

Every morning, afternoon and evening, she would see them together, entwined in a violent display of affection anywhere they would be. She saw how they lunged at each other, how their lips molded together and seemed never to separate, and how they remained so oblivious to the ugly, disgusted looks sent their way by fellow students. He had never acted this way with her.

"Why her?" she would whisper inaudibly, unable to look away even as her heart shattered slowly, painfully.

They never seemed to care.

Every night, he would walk past her without even acknowledging her, tossing away all that friendship and the budding feelings that had been between them all through these years. Her eyes would beseech wordlessly.

He never seemed to care.

"Why me?" she couldn't help wonder to the empty air, and marvel her own loneliness and his heartlessness.

His silence never offered an answer.

Nor did the tears that soaked her pillow every night.

* * *

 **This was the shortest piece I've ever written, and I wanted to keep it this way. Hope you like it :)**


	18. Always There

**Emotion prompt: Loving**

 **Characters: James Potter, Lily Evans Potter, Sirius Black**

 **Summary: 'They left, but they never really left.' — James, Lily and Sirius watch over Harry even past their death.**

* * *

They left, but they never really left.

They were out of sight, but still, just there, watching patiently and lovingly the life of the boy they all cared about so much, just beyond the range to be sensed.

-o0o-

She had been watching over him all these years, ever since that blast of green light threw them apart, just as she had watched over him while she lived. Her red hair a copper cascade, she would watch in silence as her little son tumbled around in patchy, baggy clothes, so miserably uncared in the house of one she had once loved so dearly. Her tears would find no image, her screams no sound to the living, so she was helpless, helpless to watch her son through his difficult days. And at night as she saw him go to sleep with spiders and dust as company, she would caress his forehead with her ghostly touches, and murmur little songs like she had done earlier. And while he couldn't listen, the mind of a child is a curious thing, and perhaps it gave him the strength and solace to live on in that horrible house. She had been unable to fulfill her part as a mother due to those terrible chain of events, but she did her best beyond her life.

-o0o-

He knew that he would never cease to be amazed at how much of himself and his wife he saw in their son. He was so proud of him, right from the time he watched him tackle Malfoy in the train (Lily had been exasperated by his childish behaviour), even before too, actually. The lies that the Dursleys told about them to his son made him snarl and pound his fist at nothingness... He was not a ghost, he had gone beyond the veil and had no image, no image that could be a comfort to Harry and a terror to that horrible family.

He danced around in boundless pride and joy when his son became the youngest seeker in a century; he bit his lips in worry as he saw how trouble followed his son everywhere, threatening his life every now and then. As the years drew by, he kept his son company with his cheers and cries, his smiles and tears, his greatest grief that his son could never see or hear him. He just wished he could have just one chance to tell Harry how proud he was of him. He knew that he was the unluckiest and the luckiest man (if he could still be called that), all at the same time.

-o0o-

He had never intended to be separated from his godson so soon. When he had been named godfather to his best friend's son, he had made thousands of promises to himself, that he would protect the child at any cost, that he would always be there for him. And he failed miserably in that. He had hoped to make up for that, after he snatched his freedom from that hellhole where he had lived for twelve years, except that the happy ending never reached him. He hated himself for that, powerless as he was to do anything once he fell past the veil. He watched with a mixture of pride, joy and concern as his teenaged godson grew into a strong young man. Harry's grief towards his loss saddened him, angered him and made him grateful in equal measure. He wished he could have spent more time with Harry; he wished he could have heard out his troubles and solve them; he wished he could have been what he was supposed to be, not a criminal, not a prisoner, and certainly not a tempting, shadowy promise of home and family, only to disappear too soon. He had wanted to stay.

But he could not, so he watched the boy from the beyond to which the veil had led him, silently supporting, wordlessly wandering at the periphery of existence. He just wished that his godson could see him once more, so that he could pour out his apologies and thoughts and everything else that he had wanted to, just once.

-o0o-

He was so brave, Harry. Their love and pride for him grew so much day by day, that each felt that they would spontaneously combust, and yet it was a healing feeling, a necessity, to hold their frail non-existence together.

And when he finally could see them under the Stone's effect, they managed to speak only the tiniest fraction of what they wanted, but that was enough, because he was nearly there. With them.

But he didn't come, and of course they didn't mind. They rejoiced this separation, an indication that this boy, their boy, lived. He would come to them one day, but none of them was in a hurry.

Because they left, but they never really left. They were always living, and loving, in 'there'. In Harry's heart.


End file.
